Page 29 of Twisted Prince
Especially when my heart is involved.
12
GLEB
“Maks never mentioned where he got the information?” I press as Sven and Arsen shake their heads.
Standing in the entrance to the trucking warehouse, they both seem anxious to give me the answers I’m searching for. But as of now, all I’ve found is a giant goose egg.
“He didn’t even say what he had to talk to Pyotr about,” Sven adds. “All I know is he stepped outside to take a call, and when he came back in, he was wound up and told us he had to see the boss.”
I huff. “Figures. And we wouldn’t be lucky enough to have his phone still, would we?”
The guys exchange glances, their brows furrowing.
“I would assume he had it on him when we got ambushed,” Arsen says.
“What’s this about, Bratok?” Sven asks.
“Don’t worry about it,” I state flatly. “But if anything comes to mind about that last conversation you had with Maks, you tell me—and only me. Got it?”
“Yes, gospodin,” they agree in unison.
With a curt nod, I turn and exit the warehouse.
It’s late. Night fell at some point during my extensive questioning of Maks’s few remaining men. And still, I have no leads. Frustration rips from me in a low growl as I sling my leg over my black Triumph Daytona and crank the engine to life.
Hunting down the rat in our midst is going to be no easy feat. Patience will have to win out if I’m going to make it to the finish line on this one. But after the last few days, I’m running very short on the patience I need.
And Mel plays no small part in that equation.
I know it’s late—well past dinner time at this point. It would probably be smarter to finish our conversation tomorrow, after I’ve had some sleep. But Mel and I have unfinished business to attend to, not the least of which is the Plan B I picked up on my way to Pyotr’s this morning.
And I don’t like the way we left things. I could feel the tension between us. Forcing Mel into a corner was a bad choice, and if I want to keep the trust I’ve earned, I need to know when to stand my ground and when to hear her out.
That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind. She’s not safe going out for modeling gigs right now. But I’m willing to discuss a compromise.
As long as I can keep my temper in check.
Which is why the conversation part should really wait until tomorrow.
But hell, why not go for broke? Four days without sleep, what’s a few more hours, right?
The forty-five-minute drive back into the City and to the girls’ house is a lot faster on a sportbike that can weave through the Manhattan traffic clogging the streets day and night. It gives me time to think over the information I gathered today, along with what I want to say to Mel when I see her.
Pulling up to the curb outside her redbrick Harlem home, I kill the motor and kick the prop down to stabilize my bike as I dismount. Though Mel’s scolded me on more than one occasion, I never wear a helmet. I’m of the mind that, when your number is up, it’s time to punch that ticket. And dying in a motorcycle accident doesn’t sound like a bad way to go, not when I consider the vast number of far more likely alternatives in my line of work.
Peering up at the home, I find several of the girls’ lights on in their rooms. But not Mel’s. And I wonder if she chose to call it an early night.
“Lev.” I greet my second, who stands on the front porch, his eyes turned toward the street with sharp attention.
“Hey, boss,” he greets curtly.
Until further notice, I have him and Denka on alternating shifts, so one of them will be watching the front of the house at all times. It’s the strongest protection I can offer. And it’s the best place for them, considering my search for the rat is to remain top secret. I don’t trust anyone else to keep the girls as safe as I know they will. Lev and Denka won’t drop the ball on any security measures. Of that, at least, I can be confident.
“All quiet?” I ask as I make my way up the steps.
“Since I took over about an hour ago,” he confirms.
